You hop around, scan your surroundings and hop away again. I lose sight of you, and speculate that you’re somewhere behind the table. I hear your soft paws scratching at wood floors somewhere in the distance. “Thump,” I look down and you’re right next to me! Ever since I was eight you’ve been zipping around the house, scavenging on dropped food and spilled water. I’ve had you since I was 8 years old. I remember the day when I came to pick you up from the county fair. I was restless in my seat, interrogating my mom if we were there yet. Now you’re here to keep me company, the house is alive with your onomatopoeic thumps, scratches, and hops.